


A Portrait of Hope

by AnimalCops



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-15 16:22:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19621300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnimalCops/pseuds/AnimalCops
Summary: Hope Lupin had passed away years ago, but a portrait hung in Lyall's study. They talked every night and she was ready to knock some sense into his stubborn head whenever he needed it. Especially when he fretted about their son.





	A Portrait of Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Jae for inspiring this idea <3

Lyall Lupin walked into his study. He lived alone now that Remus was all grown up. He had graduated from Hogwarts with top marks and moved into a flat with that Sirius Black. And Lyall didn’t mind. He was glad his son was happy and he knew that Sirius would take care of him. 

Good lad, that Sirius. 

Right? He was good, right?

Lyall glanced over the scattered papers that only ever seemed to grow in number over his ancient wooden desk. He shrugged it off. His deadline wasn’t until the end of the week. He could put it off. 

Instead, he looked over to the right. A large ornate painting hung on the wall beside an old comfortable chair that was made of wood and velvet. A small table stood to the side of the chair and beside the painting. There was an empty glass that previously held bourbon and a tattered copy of _Warlocks Never Win_ , his favorite novel. 

The painting itself was grand. It was definitely the most exquisite thing in the house. And Lyall wasn’t just saying that due to the beautiful young woman that stood in it. Hope, his wife, smiled from within the framed artwork. She stood among trees and flowers. She loved plants and nature so much. But Lyall had also made sure to have the artist give her a chair, so she could rest. Her hair was lying gently over her shoulders, slightly in her eyes as it often was. 

He moved over and sat beside the portrait of his late wife. He smiled at her, and she smiled back. 

She took her seat in her own chair and brushed back the brown hair that fell in her eyes. “My love,” She said, her voice always soft and light. Like her spirit. “Are you going to read tonight?”

“I thought maybe… could we talk?” Lyall asked gently. 

He would typically read to her. She liked to hear him read - and there were so many stories that she had never heard before. Not to mention how silly Lyall sounded, trying to do a dozen different voices and then forgetting which voices went to which character. But she would never tell him it was silly. It was just Lyall. 

“Of course.” She smiled, nodding. “Do you have something on your mind?”

“I’m just- I’m worried.” He glanced at the empty glass beside the old book and suddenly wished he had remembered to fill it. 

“About what?”

He covered his face with his hands and was silent for a moment. He could feel Hope’s eyes on him. He wasn’t really sure how to voice his concerns. He trusted his son, of course he did. 

It was everyone else he didn’t trust. 

His voice was muffled in his hands. “Do you think Remus will be alright?”

“What, dear?”

He pulled his hands from his face and looked up at the portrait, meeting Hope’s beautiful brown eyes. “Do you think Remus will be alright?”

Her brow furrowed and concern laced her words, “Why wouldn’t he be? Did something happen?” She stood from her seat and stepped closer, as if she were just a person approaching a window. 

“No, no.” Lyall said quickly, raising his hands toward her. “Everything’s fine. He’s fine.”

Hope visibly relaxed, her posture suddenly less rigid. “Then why are you worried if he’s alright?”

Lyall ran a hand through his short greying hair. “I just…" His hand moved to rub at his unshaven face, scratching lightly at the short hair. "What if something happens? And he doesn't tell me?"

"He's a grown man, my love." Hope chastised. She had taken her seat once more, looking more calm than she had moments before. "You can't coddle him, even though I know you would love to do so."

"He's- He's not like just another person," Lyall said, suddenly taking up the empty bourbon glass in his hands. He rolled the glass between his hands, always needing something to do with them when he felt anxious. “We can’t ignore the fact that he’s… _special_.”

“Lyall.” Hope’s soft voice was stern. 

He glanced up at her, blue eyes meeting her doe-like brown. His lips twitched at the corners, as though he were fighting between a smile and a frown. “He’s special, Hope. And… he’s cautious about it, I know that. He’s such a good boy. He…” 

And Lyall sighed. His shoulders drooped and he looked back at the glass between his hands. He rolled it a few more times, feeling the grooves against his palms. “Remus… people can use him. He’s such a good boy,” He repeated, pride in his voice. “He- what if someone takes advantage-?”

“Lyall Lupin, look at me, this instant.” 

Oh, that tone always meant he was in trouble. He looked up at her, the glass clutched between his hands. 

"Lyall Lupin, you're such a _stupid_ man." She was smiling, so he ignored the playful insult. "Remus has been living with his lycanthropy all his life. He can handle himself." 

She moved, standing from her chair in the painting, moving closer to him. Her hand raised, but then she paused, and her hand fell back to her side. She longed to touch him, to stroke his hair and cup his cheek. To kiss the birthmark beside his eye. To press her forehead to his. But those times were long gone. 

But they had this. 

Lyall smiled softly. "Right. He can handle himself, I know- I know that, my love. But, _others_?"

"Remus can handle others as well. That son of ours, he's stronger than you'd think he is. His spirit, it's so full of light, my dear. You know, as well as I do, that we cannot keep him under lock and key. He's done his time under our wings, under our protection."

"But, Hope-" Lyall stood from his seat on worn velvet. He placed the glass back on the table. 

"No, no," She interrupted. "Don't you argue with me. I need you to listen to me, okay? You're such a stubborn man, but do try to just listen."

He nodded, falling silent. 

Hope smiled at him, placing a hand over her heart, "Our baby is so strong." She smiled brightly when Lyall gave a firm nod. "And he can take care of himself. He's grown now, flown the nest. Gone to create his own pack." She giggled when Lyall rolled his eyes at the pun. She stepped closer to him, moving her hand to place it on the canvas that separated them. "He doesn't go down without a fight, you know that."

He moved over to her, placing his palm against hers. "I know that." 

"Don't you worry your silly little head, my love." 

"It's hard." Lyall whispered, leaning his forehead against the painting. He felt so stupid.

"I know it's hard," She said reassuringly, looking down at where Lyall was leaning against the trees. 

He was always so careful not to touch the painting too much. He always touched her hand with his, but if it were anything else, he would never touch where Hope stood. He had a fear of smudging the painting, not knowing if it would hurt her. He didn't want to take the chance. 

So he soon pulled his hand away from hers, no matter how badly he wanted to stand like that forever. And he took a step back from the painting. 

She stood there, hands clasped in front of her. Her head was tilted just slightly to one side, and her face was so soft and gentle. Her eyes took him in, and her brown hair was brushed behind her ear. She smiled gently at her husband. 

Lyall sighed, "It's hard." He repeated, "It's hard when he's away."

"I know." She said softly.

"And you're-" 

He didn't want to say it. He couldn't bring himself to say it. 

"I'm gone." She smiled wistfully. 

"No!" Lyall said quickly, shaking his head, "No, no. I didn't mean-"

"You did; and it's okay, my love." 

Hope looked around. 

First she took in what she could see in Lyall's world. The scattered papers on the desk. The books that overcrowded the bookshelf and the books that were in a pile beside it. The chair he sat in when he read to her every night. The glass he drank from. The book he had picked out for her. She took in the state of her husband; he looked a mess. His hair hadn't been combed, he needed to shave, he looked so tired. She looked around her painting next. The beautiful green grass. The ancient oak trees. The vibrant flowers that lined a flowing river. 

"We manage fine like this." She said gently. 

He gave a small nod.

"I couldn't trust you to take care of Remus alone, now could I?"

Lyall laughed, his eyes crinkling at the sides. "If I didn't have you to ease my worries, he would have never left the nest."

"The den, you mean?"


End file.
